


The Lives and Loves of a Sea Devil

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Sea Devils - Freeform, UNIT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor's working for UNIT again. How long do you think that'll last?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lives and Loves of a Sea Devil

_Sometimes he gets bored_. 

It's in all the files, though never in those words. Sometimes he gets bored. Sometimes he's at a loose end. Sometimes, for whatever reason, the Doctor makes a house call. 

He walks boldly down the corridors of the old HQ, occasionally waving at awe-struck onlookers. (UNIT is not, no matter what anyone says, the Unofficial Doctor Fan Club.) He picks a room, opens the door, and steps inside. 

He looks around for a moment and then he turns and says, “Where's all my stuff?” He spreads his hands to express the concept of _stuff_.

“Mothballs,” says Kate. “Did you seriously think your laboratory would still be as you left it?”

“I don't see why not.” he says, sounding a bit annoyed.

“For one thing, most of the equipment was on loan. But if you're looking for your old clothes I _think_ we have still a purple velvet number in the Black Archive.”

The Doctor ignores her, pointing to a filing-cabinet in the corner of the room. “That was Liz's workbench,” he says, “and then Jo used it for storing what she insisted were crystals with the power of healing.” He thinks for a moment. “Sarah Jane... I think she kept her notes there. Not that you ever let her publish anything.”

Kate shrugs. “Classified information.”

“Hmm,” he says. He spins once, coat-tails flying. “I'll take it. Spot of paint, a few more lights...” He claps his hands together. “It'll be perfect.”

“For what?” she asks, confused. 

The Doctor leans towards her. “Any chance I could get paid this time?” he asks, in a tone he probably thinks is discreet.

 

“Silurians,” says Kate.

The Doctor looks up at her over a pair of ill-fitting glasses (they can't be his and, according Dr Sullivan's decades-old assessment, he can't need them) and a pile of expensive equipment. “Actually,” he says, “the preferred term is 'Earth Reptiles'.”

“Actually,” she says, “they're Sea Devils.” She thinks for a moment. “ _Aquatic_ Earth Reptiles?

“That'll do,” says the Doctor. He holds his hand out for the file.

Kate passes it to him and watches as he flicks through it too fast to absorb the information. He takes off the (stolen?) glasses and turns a photograph the wrong way up to look at it.

He's been here for a week. Kate's already pretty sure that means someone's died. (The young couple from last time have disappeared from the historical record, maybe they'll find them eventually but maybe they won't.)

“There's only one of them,” he says, certain. 

“But we have-”

“Multiple reports of the same person in different places. Looking for something, maybe.”

“Or some _one_ ,” she suggests.

“You're very clever,” says the Doctor, holding up a photograph, “but you didn't notice the scarring under the left eye. Same person.” He hands back the folder. “What did you do with Bessie?”

“Ah,” says Kate, apologetically. 

The Doctor looks lost. “How am I supposed to get to Brighton if I don't have wheels?”

“Brighton?”

“Well, it's a coastal town, it's on our friend's route.” He shrugs. “I thought we'd go and meet her there.”

“Her?”

“Warrior caste, probably a girl. Although,” he adds, “I did meet some with breasts. That was really odd. Not that I'm an expert in Earth Reptile breeding habits, but I'm fairly sure they don't give birth to live young.” He waves a hand, dismissing the idea. “Probably none of my business anyway.” He picks up his coat from the hat-stand by the door. “I'll need an assistant,” he says.

“I'll get you one. Martha Jones is in China, but -”

“Oh, you'll do,” he says.

Kate stares at him. “I can't be your assistant,” she says, repressing an old childhood daydream. “I'm the head of UNIT, I'm not going to pass you test-tubes and tell you how clever you are.” She folds her arms across her chest. “You can be _my_ assistant.”

“But I'm the Doctor!” he protests. “I'm your scientific advisor, I'm -”

“Technically you're not even on the payroll yet.” She stands her ground. “If you want me then you work for me.”

The Doctor considers his options. “I'm not wearing go-go boots,” he says finally. “And I don't have the legs for a miniskirt.”

“What decade do you think this is?” she demands. “You can wear what you're wearing.”

He salutes. “You're the boss.”

 

“You don't think this is a bit... obvious?” he asks as they walk towards the helicopter. “Black helicopters with no markings on,” he clarifies. “You don't think those look incredibly suspicious and just a bit silly?”

“I don't remember asking your opinions on our transport options,” she says breezily.

“We could have gone by train. I've got a 16-25 Railcard.”

“You?”

He shrugs. “If I have to have people asking how old I am, I think I deserve a bit of money off my train fares.”

Kate looks sideways at him. Only a year ago he looked like he could have been her son. Now he seems impossibly older, somehow, though the lines on his face have hardly changed. She shakes her head and climbs into the helicopter, fastening her seatbelt. 

“Have I mentioned I'm a bit scared of heights?” says the Doctor. “Not massively, but I've never really been the same since I fell off that radio telescope.”

 _1981,_ Kate thinks automatically, _almost certainly a regeneration-event._

The Doctor gets into the seat next to her and produces a small paper bag from somewhere. “Jelly Baby?” he offers.

Kate takes a red one and slips it into a pocket uneaten. The Doctor looks at her strangely and then spends some time trying to fasten his seatbelt before she leans over and clicks it into place for him.

She taps the pilot on the shoulder, sits back in her seat. 

“Greyhound ready for take-off, over.”

“This is exciting,” says the Doctor. “Don't you think this is exciting?”

 _She is six years old the first time she travels in a black helicopter. She is being evacuated, like the rest of London, but her father makes sure she'll actually be taken somewhere safe._ “No,” she says, glancing out the window, “not especially.”

 

The seaside town is quiet, thank Heaven for small mercies. It's out of the holiday season and into the dark days of winter when visitors are rare. There shouldn't be too many casualties.

The Doctor buys himself an ice-cream from a lone vendor on the seafront. There's a flake in it. 

“Not good weather for our friend,” he says, looking out at the rough sea. “She'll probably be looking to hide somewhere warm.”

Kate nods. “Yes, we did consider that.”

He pulls out the sonic screwdriver and waves it in the air. 

“What are you doing?”

“Saying hello,” he says. “I thought it might be nice to approach her on friendly terms.”

Kate reaches up to grab the screwdriver, but he pulls away from her. “You're not calling an unidentified alien to a population-centre,” she says as he tries to skip away from her along the promenade.

He corrects her. “Not an alien.”

She accepts the correction. “An unidentified Earth Reptile. Who, as you pointed out, is a warrior, and probably in a rather desperate physical condition.”

The Doctor looks at her for a long moment, then turns the sonic off and slips it back into a pocket. “Good point.”

“Thank you.” She pulls her coat tighter around her body as the wind picks up. The Doctor doesn't seem to notice the change in temperature. _He's cold, inside and out, that's what the files say._

“I wish we were in Blackpool,” he says, “I haven't been up the Tower in ages.”

“When were you there?” she asks. 

“Oh, centuries ago. 1967... no, 1968. I think. I was with Rose and Mickey at the time.”

 _Mickey Smith, husband to Martha Jones. Excellent with computers. Rose Tyler, fate unknown, last seen during a Dalek invasion._ “Oh,” she says. She rubs her hands together for warmth. 

The Doctor looks out to sea, apparently lost in thought. Kate doesn't disturb him, walks away to make a phone call back to base.

“Just checking in,” she says into the mobile.

“How is he?” asks the voice on the other end without preamble.

“Alien,” she says. “What were you expecting?”

“We found Amy Pond and her husband.”

“Where? When?” She listens distantly to the end of someone else's world. She nods, message understood. “I see,” she says, turning to watch the Doctor throwing stones at the waves. He'll never reach them, they're too far out to sea. “See if you can get hold of Dr Jones,” she says. “Maybe an old friend will cheer him up a bit.”

“We don't want him distracted.”

“And we don't want him miserable either,” she snaps, ending the call abruptly.

 

They have to stay in a bed-and-breakfast, for proximity and because UNIT have never needed a safe-house in Brighton before now. 

The Doctor knocks on her door at 6am. Kate is already awake and dressed. 

“A fishing boat disappeared yesterday,” he says, holding up the local paper.

She takes the newspaper from his hands. “Why didn't I know about this?” She reads the lead story, makes a mental note of the details.

“You know about it _now_ ” says the Doctor, reasonably. 

“You think it's our target,” she says.

“Our _friend_ ,” he says, not quite scolding. 

“Our friend is sinking fishing-boats,” she points out. _She's read all the files, she knows they can't be trusted._

“We need a boat,” he says, “and sonar equipment.”

“Already done.”

“A packet of Jammy Dodgers wouldn't go amiss either.”

“What for?” she asks, confused.

“I'm not spending all day in a boat without a decent supply of biscuits.”

 

Kate looks over the side of the boat. Nothing stirs that shouldn't. The Doctor is sitting astern, building a signalling device and eating Jammy Dodgers. 

“I didn't even know he had a wife, your dad,” he says conversationally. 

“He was a rather private person.” 

“I was his best friend!”

“Do you have a wife?” she asks, and regrets it when she sees the look that flashes in his eyes. 

“No,” he says. “No, I don't have a wife.” He picks up a (not sonic) screwdriver and turns back to his work.

“Why are you here? Why aren't you out gallivanting across the universe with some young girl in a short skirt?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

He shrugs. “I felt like a change of pace. Young girls in short skirts are lovely, but they can be so demanding. 'Oh, Doctor!'” he mimicked. “'Doctor, I want to go to Space Florida. Doctor, can we go to Mars? Doctor, it's eating my shoes!'”

Kate laughs despite herself. “I'm sure they're not always like that.”

“Sometimes they're brave,” he says, eyes on his work. “Sometimes they're clever. Sometimes they're brave _and_ clever and I simply can't keep up.” He looks up at her. “Would you like me to take you away from all this?”

“Is that an offer?” _She spends her childhood touching police boxes in case they sing to her._

“Might be,” he says, non-committally.

“I've got an important job,” she says.

“I've got a time-machine.”

“I have all sorts of commitments.”

“Is there a Mr Kate?” he asks. 

_Once, briefly._ She shakes her head. “I don't have time for that sort of nonsense.”

He points an Allen key at her. “Humans love that sort of nonsense. Even your dad,” he says, apparently still not over that surprise.

Kate's still trying to think of a response when something starts bleeping. The Doctor stands, crosses the boat to look at whatever he turned the sonar scanner into. “She's here.” He runs to the side of the boat, leans over the edge.

Kate rushes after him, arrives at his side in time to see something surface. 

“She'll be cold,” says the Doctor, pulling off his coat. “Get that heater on.” He throws a rope-ladder over the side of the boat. “Come on,” he calls to the water, “we're friends!”

Kate feels in her pocket for the little capsule of hexachromite gas. She doesn't want to use it and she knows she might have to. The Doctor has... certain biases.

The Doctor leans further over the side of the boat, helping someone – something – out of the water. He wraps his coat around wet scaly flesh, mutters reassurances in some forgotten language. “It's okay,” he says in English, “we're going to help.”

 

The reptile sits by the heater, a pile of armour discarded by her feet.

Kate leans towards the Doctor. “What now?” she asks, not because she hasn't made arrangements, but because she wants to be aware of all the options. He probably has a plan. He's good at improvisation. 

“Do you think would could get her into the hotel?” he asks, doubtfully. “Maybe if she wore a hat?”

“She's a 65 million year old reptilian warrior from a lost species, not a girlfriend you're trying to sneak into your room without your mother finding out.”

“I never did any such thing,” he says mildly. “Anyway, she's a refugee, I'm not letting you lock her up in some underground prison in the Highlands.”

Kate tries to hide her surprise. _Of course he knows, he always knows._ “Then what do you suggest?” 

“I can't take her back to her own time without handing out plot spoilers, and she can't stay here. I suppose there's always the future, but...”

Kate looks up at him. “Did you really come all this way without a plan?”

He holds out his hands, fisted. “Left or right,” he says.

“I'm not playing games, Doctor.”

He opens his hands. In his left palm lies a small blue capsule. Kate automatically reaches into her pocket, finds it empty.

“Insurance,” she tells him. “It was only ever insurance.”

“So it's fairly obvious why she can't stay here.” He looks so very disappointed. “Runs in the family, eh?”

“Doctor-”

“I don't want excuses. I've heard plenty of excuses in my time. Made a lot of them myself.”

“We're scared,” she says simply. “And that's not an excuse, it's a reason. We can barely cope with others of our own species, do you really think we can live in harmony with... with.... dinosaurs?”

“I want the TARDIS here by morning,” he says, turning away to head back up the boat to talk to the Sea Devil. 

“Fine.” She catches his sleeve. “I really am sorry.”

“You're always sorry,” says the Doctor. “All of you. There's no point being sorry if it doesn't help you change.” He pulls away from her. “Obviously you can tear up my employment contract.”

Kate watches him go, then turns her attention to the sea. She knows the Doctor won't abandon her species, and that's the only thing that really matters. Let him be disappointed with her. She'll get another chance, next time he's bored.

_Sorry, Dad._


End file.
